Holmes Insurance
by Dunced Goofball
Summary: Would you have ever guessed that Sherlock Holmes had a woman in his life, who is not Mrs Hudson, who he cared deeply for?
1. Holmes Sweet Home

_I would like to thank you for taking the time to begin to read my first BBC Sherlock fanfiction._

 _I am going to give this my best shot and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it._

 _Goofball._

 **Holmes Sweet Home**

I scooted my chair closer to my desk so I could better view the two diaries in front of me. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I looked up at the woman in front of me and nodded my approval before sliding the diaries back to their owners. "Are there any amendments you would like to make to next week's schedule before we finish?"

The blonde haired, blue eyed Megan Roberts, Secretary, confirmed that she had no amendments to be made and closed her diary, the paperwork from earlier in the meeting placed securely on today's page. The diary was bulging with all the sticky notes and bookmarks sticking out of with several pieces of paper all in different states. Some, their full size A4, others folded in half. I spotted a couple of torn pieces of paper which looked as though Megan had used them for jotting down rough notes. "Am I to continue my duties as normal today, ma'am?"

"Yes Miss Roberts. I suspect I will be either in meetings all day or am going to be invited somewhere. Not sure at the moment but I will you know of my whereabouts once I know of them myself." We both stood from our chairs and I held my hand out to her and quickly we shook before she left my office to return to her desk. Once she had left, I took a sip of water whilst refreshing my emails on my computer. With one last sip of water before I put it down, I checked my diary once more before closing it and placing it into my desk drawer. I organised my inbox to accommodate the new arrivals before opening the first one. A client asking to confirm details of payments. Without reading too much into the email, I forwarded it onto Jason Rooks, Accountant. A few more of the emails in my inbox were forwarded onto other colleagues.

After forwarding several other emails I opened one and suddenly wished I hadn't opened the damn thing. With a huff, I pushed myself out of my chair and leaned out of my office door to peer at Parker King's desk which is conveniently positioned in the floor plan that when he is sat at his desk, he can see all who come in and out of my office. Unfortunately, as I needed him, he is not at his desk. Improvising, I faced the other side of the main floor and waved over the Maxwell, our friendly, neighbourhood Security Guard. "Yes ma'am? Something special for me to do?" He asked on his approach.

A smile appeared on my face as I asked him, "Max, would you mind an awful lot keeping a look out for someone for me, please?" One of the office interns approached us quickly with some paperwork with a smile before walking away with a quick 'thank you' from me. "It could potentially be an all day wait." I grimaced as I walked back into my office. Max not needing permission to follow after me.

"No problem ma'am. I will inform the team. Who-"

"Who is it you will be looking for? Sherlock Holmes. As I said, it could be an all day wait. He hasn't specified when he is going to appear. Just that he will." I faced Max with an eyebrow raised. "I would appreciate it if you could keep him to the relevant floors for arriving to my office. He has a few admirers in the building and I don't want them to get in his way. Oh and, if you could make sure that no one loiters around my office door when he is here? Everyone is here to do a job after all."

"Understood ma'am."

"And Max?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"Could you let your wife know that that was a delicious cake she had baked for us? My husband took a shine to it and says that he wouldn't mind another."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."

~ Holmes Sweet Home ~

"Ma'am?"

I lifted my head up from the paperwork I was reading that Mr Rooks had handed me. Megan stood in front of me, her jaw set and hands squeezing each other tightly as she held them in front of her to keep an air of professionalism. I lifted an eyebrow when she didn't immediately offer an explanation as to why she called my attention. Then I realised just who might have agitated her.

My suspicions confirmed when she continued, "Mr Holmes is in your office."

I smiled, hoping that the sympathy I was conveying was received, "thank you, Megan." I watched closely as she walked away how she stomped just a little harder than normal, hopefully she would be able to cool off. "Jason, I will retrieve this from you later on. There are one or two things I would like you to improve on but overall a brilliant piece of work. Well done." I pat his shoulder quickly before walking to my office with a detour to Mr King. "I am about to enter a meeting in my office. If you don't hear or see me in an hour, call my husband and tell him I've been eaten by the sharks." At Parker's incredulous look, I explained a little further, "he'll understand, don't worry." At that, I turned on my heel and walked over to my closed office door where Maxwell was standing guard. "Thanks for your help Max. Much appreciated."

"You are welcome, ma'am."

"Don't over work yourself, Max!" He nodded his head and I opened the door. Upon my entrance, the gentleman snooping on my computer straightened up. Sherlock smiled at me as if he had been doing nothing wrong and I just shook my head, not hiding the small smile on my lips. "Please do not tell me that you have deleted something."

"Of course not, why would I do that?" He wrapped his arms around my waist and mine went around his neck in a hug.

I huffed, "because you could? Because you wanted?" Is what I listed as we pulled away. He stepped to the side and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. "Would you like any refreshments, Sherlock?"

"A small glass of water would be fine, thank you." I nodded and walked over to a smaller desk where I keep a fresh stock of ingredients for a variety of tea and coffee as well as bottles of water and a limited variety of snacks. As requested, I poured a small glass of water from one of the bottles and placed it in his hand. "I have actually come to ask for your assistance."

"Go on." I accepted as I sat in my chair.

"My search for a place to stay of my own. I have a property in mind but would like you to evaluate it for me before I confirm."

"Why?"

"Because if you give your approval, it would be easier for you to produce the legal paperwork for my tenancy." He sighed before admitting, "I want your approval. Your opinion matters a great deal to me."

"Thank you. What's the address then?" I asked as loaded the relevant programme up on my computer.

"221B Baker Street."

"Baker Street is generally expensive in terms of renting or buying. Aesthetically, the buildings are all pleasing with a couple of quaint shops filtered into the scope of the street. Now let me see, 221B." As I waited for my computer to generate the relevant information, I faced Sherlock. "Isn't 221B one of Mrs Hudson's? That lovely woman with the husband and Florida, yes?"

"Quite right, yes. She's offered me a deal. The price has been extensively decreased for me from the original price for someone else interested in the property. However, I may need to consider a flat share as the cost of rent is steep. What do you think?"

"You already know what I think." I turned back to my computer and navigated the information for the relevant pieces I need. "Looks comfortable. Good layout in the design of the building. I'd prefer to give the rooms a fresh coat of paint but I can live with the current design. I can see that it fits you nearly perfectly. When I go visit Mrs Hudson, would you like me to arrange you the moving service?"

He nodded, "Please have my possessions relocated before 7pm tomorrow evening? Everything has already been boxed so there is no need to allocate time to pack."

"Very thorough. Well done. If you do not commission a flat mate by this time, I shall investigate a viable method of sustainable income until such time as you do acquire one, agreed?"

"Of course. You can leave the paperwork with Mrs Hudson for me to sign."

I nodded, pulled my diary from its drawer, opened it to the relevant page and in capital letters, clearly stated that I would be 'OUT OF OFFICE' that day. "Shall I look into any other services such as housekeeping for you?"

"No that will not be necessary. I intend to partake in experiments. I don't need some bumbling idiot to come along and destroy my work."

"Understandable. What about someone who can fetch groceries regularly for you?"

"No."

"Understood. Anything else you would like me to do for you, Sherlock?"

"I will be in touch." He stated as he stood. I followed suit and he pulled me into another hug before swiftly exiting my office.

I drank some more water before striding to the door of my office and calling for Megan. I had some changes in my schedule to discuss.

~ End of Chapter ~

 _First chapter!_

 _Thank you for reading this far into this new adventure!_

 _I hope to see you soon on the next page._

 _Goofball._


	2. The Skull and the Good Doctor

**The Skull and the Good Doctor**

I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag on my arm as I waited for Mrs Hudson to answer the front door after I had knocked. The car that had dropped me off had left by the time Mrs Hudson opened the door.

A bright smile lit both our faces as we greeted each other with a warm hug, "hi Mrs Hudson, I hope I'm not intruding?"

"Of course not, my dear. Come in, come in." She ushered me in and then into her flat where she had me sit down at the little kitchen table where she already had a plate of biscuits set out. "I hope the traffic wasn't too bad for you, dear." Mrs Hudson asked out of social convention for pleasantry.

I chuckled, "the traffic is always bad here, Mrs H, but the company I had kept me in good spirits."

"Oh yes," Mrs Hudson exclaimed, "how is that husband of yours?" A small smile on her face.

"He is perfectly well, Mrs H. Thank you for asking." I also thanked her for the cup of tea and helped myself to a biscuit or two. "As I explained when I called you, Mrs H, Sherlock has asked that I overlook the paperwork for his tenancy. I hope you don't mind?" I pulled the aforementioned paperwork out of my bag and placed it in front of Mrs Hudson who put her glasses onto her face to better see the text.

And so I walked Mrs Hudson through the formality of the paperwork and answered all the questions she posed to me. An hour and half had passed before she was happy to settle the paperwork for Sherlock to keep a hold of. I asked her kindly if she wouldn't mind if I popped up to the flat quickly and being the sweet hearted lady that she is, Mrs Hudson ushered me upstairs with a smile.

She opened the door for me and I smiled at the work the movers had done with Sherlock's belongings. I investigated a little further into the boxes to ensure that nothing had been stolen, broken or missed. I also quickly checked the bedrooms and was happy to note that all boxes were allocated to the relevant rooms.

Pleased with the job the movers completed for Sherlock, I returned back to the living room where I remembered that Sherlock had specifically requested that I looked after a couple of items. I collected my bag from Mrs Hudson's flat and returned to the flat above where I lifted Sherlock's laptop from my bag and set it onto the desk and laying the neatly wrapped laptop charger next to it.

The second item Sherlock requested I take particular care of is his skull and with steady hands, I placed it onto the fireplace where it is visible. Also with Sherlock's laptop, I left his tenancy agreement, for his perusal when he is ready.

With one last quick glance around the room, I left and headed back down to Mrs Hudson. "Mrs H? I am sorry that I cannot stay longer but I have a dinner date I must attend."

"That is alright, dear. You'll keep in touch, won't you?" The gentlewoman kindly demanded of me as we hugged tightly.

"Of course I will, Mrs H. And I will have both you and Mrs Turner with me attend lunch with me one day soon."

"Looking forward to it, lovely. Bye!"

"Bye, Mrs H!" As she closed the door behind me, I face the road and found that my personal taxi had parked in front of me and the driver kindly opened the door for me to get in. With a 'thank you', I lowered myself into the car and plonked my bag onto the floor.

My right hand was lifted in a gentle grip for a light kiss to be bestowed to my knuckles. As I turned my head to face the handsome gentleman, I squeezed his hand back with a small smile on my lips. His lips twitched in response. "Hi, Mycroft." I greeted in a whisper.

"I hope you enjoyed your time with Mrs Hudson, Priscilla?"

"I did, thank you. Would you be able to arrange a time for myself, Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner to have lunch? I'll extend the invitation to you as well, love, but I already know you shall politely decline." The slight squeeze to my hand, that he had yet to release, was answer enough. I had every intention of bringing him a desert treat back home with me for him though. "Are we going to dinner now, or will that be later?"

"I am taking you to dinner now as I have business later this afternoon. I intend to be late home." I hummed in acknowledgement and settled into the seat. Still holding onto his hand.

~ **The Skull and the Good Doctor** ~

After dinner, once Mycroft and I were on our way to our home, I received a text from Sherlock informing me that he had found the paperwork and that he would need my help at a later time.

Before I could type a reply, another text came through from him. _' John Watson. Ex-army doctor. New flatmate. Anderson was with Donovan again.'_

 _'Can I meet Dr Watson? Will arrange meeting with Mrs Anderson.'_

 _'Why?'_

 _'She needs to divorce him. The pig.'_

 _'You're being polite.'_

 _'Thank you. Dr W?'_

 _'Soon.'_

 _' :-) '_

"Why are you texting my brother?" Mycroft questioned once he saw Sherlock's name appear on the screen of my phone.

I handed him my phone so he could read the messages for himself so I didn't have to read them out to him. "He is updating me on his new flatmate, John Watson. Seems to me like Sherlock has a new best friend." I studied Mycroft's strong features as he browsed my phone, after being around him for years, I knew that the slight down turn of the corners of his lips meant that _Big Brother Mycroft_ was about to make an appearance. I didn't dwell on that for long though, his gorgeous blue eyes distracting me as he raised an eyebrow at my staring before smirking as he watched the faint blush colour my cheeks. "I assume you will be meeting Doctor Watson for yourself? If you are, and if he accepts your bribery, I want you to make sure that you offer the price they will need to cover the rent before negotiating on his terms, please."

Mycroft looked down to my phone once more before passing it back to me, "and why would I do that, Priscilla?"

"There's a lot of reasons, Mycroft." I tried to hide the smirk but my efforts were futile. "Let's see shall we?" I pretended to think deeply of the reasons before counting them on my fingers as I rattled them off. "Because you love me and will do anything I ask, if I ask nicely enough? Because there is a delicious chocolate gateau at home that I am in my rights to deny you a piece of? Maybe you will do it because we both care about Sherlock? Or maybe you'll do it for a more compassionate reason? Mrs Hudson will require some form of compensation for dealing with Sherlock on a permanent basis." As he observed me during and after my little speech, I got the impression that he was trying to formulate an argument as to why none of those reasons held any justification within a discussion.

Never had I been bothered of how the Holmes brothers always knew everything about you when they observed you, and Mycroft had even admitted to me, before our relationship began, that he loved observing me more than anyone else because not once had I subconsciously tried to change myself because of something negative that he had noticed about me. At the time I had said it was because I was happy with myself as a person, but once I realised my feelings for him, I realised that I never changed myself based on his observations because not once had he said that he disliked anything about me. And then he proposed to me and we've been happily married since.

"I am on a diet, Priscilla, the chocolate has no hold on me." Mycroft stated in his usual calm lilt. The glint in his blue eyes, a familiar and adored sight to me.

With a smile, I shifted a little closer to him, shuffling over the back seats of the car as I found myself a comfortable position to lay my head on his shoulder. "Okay. I think I understand now. You will bribe John with a good sum of money, and when you have ensured that I am asleep and won't be disturbed, you will help yourself to a slice of the delicious gateau and return to your diet the following morning. As long as you save me a piece, I will still love you."

~ End of Chapter ~

 _If you have gotten this far into my story, are you enjoying it?_

 _If you are enjoying it, I hope you keeping enjoying it as I post more chapters!_

 _If you are not enjoying it, I am sorry to hear that. I am also sorry that I am going to keep posting more chapters until this story is complete._

 _Goofball._


	3. A Study In Pink: Nothing More To Say

**A Study In Pink: Nothing More To Say**

London nightlife was in full swing when Mycroft returned home. Sirens of the emergency services could be heard in the distance; a couple stood underneath a lamp post down the street who got into a taxi that pulled up, taking them to one of London's many expensive restaurants. There was also the distinct chatter of a group, Mycroft could hear, as he approached the lift that would take him up to the floor of his apartment. The group, made up of more women than men, that could be heard all over the ground the floor of the building were all dressed up in their most expensive clothing and were walking towards the front entrance. Mycroft noted that one of the men had put his phone and an apartment key into his blazer pocket and noted that the key belong to one of the 3 apartments on the first floor.

Any other deductions he made of the group before they left his line of sight, Mycroft catalogued on his phone for reference at a later time for security checks and the like. The lift doors were open when Mycroft reached them and William, the Lift Attendant, was at his post reading today's newspaper, whilst Mycroft had been typing on his phone, he had checked the time and noted that William had another hour to work before he could sign off for the night.

Hearing someone approach, William looked up from his paper and acknowledged Mr Holmes with a small smile as Mr Holmes entered the lift first before he pressed the correct floor number then going back to his newspaper, silently accompanying Mr Holmes. "Goodnight, William." Mycroft said pleasantly as William lifted his head from the newspaper when the doors had opened.

"Night, Mr Holmes." William called before the lift doors closed again to return the older gentleman to the ground floor.

Mycroft noted the light visible under the door and discovered that the lights in the entryway had been left turned on when he had unlocked the door and stepped in. After closing the front door behind him, and making a conscious effort to leave it unlocked, he walked further into his home, noting that the door to the master suite was open and the lights turned off, though he could see light coming from the other end of the apartment so knew Priscilla was not asleep in their room. He approached the living room and found Priscilla fast asleep on the sofa. He scanned the immediate area and concluded that she had finished the work she was doing on her laptop, which was turned off and sat on the coffee table in front of her; then she had wrapped the blanket over herself as she idly browsed the television channels looking for something to watch before ultimately falling asleep.

Mycroft picked the remote off the floor where it had fallen and put it onto the table after turning the television off. Once Mycroft was happy to note that nothing else was out of place, he went over to the door that lead that to the cinema room. He sat down in the armchair that he had claimed as his own and turned the system on via the master switch and once the live feed videos had loaded onto the big screen in front of him, he studied them closely in order to execute his plan efficiently.

It did not take him long to find what he was looking for and he had to wait only moments for his target to appear in view of the camera and close enough to the telephone box before he had dialled through to that telephone in order to gain the attention of his target – who had walked away from the box. Not discouraged, Mycroft followed his target through the streets of London until he found the identification code to another telephone that he connected to, but quickly disconnected it when someone else reached to answer it. But it had served its purpose of gaining the target's attention so they were now aware that they were being contacted.

A little further up the same street, Mycroft connected through to a second telephone box in front of his target and smirked when they picked up the phone with a cautious, "hello?"

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" Mycroft answered.

The man in the box looked to his left but was more concerned about the mysterious caller than a camera. "Who's this? Who's speaking?"

"The camera, Doctor Watson, do you see it?" When Doctor Watson looked at the camera, Mycroft had it move until it was facing away from the telephone box. "There is another building on the building opposite you, do you see it?" Again, Mycroft turned the camera away from Doctor Watson once it had been located. "And finally, to the top of the building on your right." Once more, the camera did the same thing as the others; leaving only one camera facing the Doctor. "Get in the car, Doctor Watson."

Thoroughly freaked out now, Doctor Watson watched as Mycroft's black car rolled to a stop directly in front of him. Just as Mycroft had planned. Mycroft's voice emitted from the phone once more, "I would make some kind of threat, but I am sure your situation is quite clear to you." Then the dial tone. Mycroft watched for just a moment longer to confirm that Doctor Watson had entered the car before he shut off the system.

Mycroft had already left instructions with Anthea that she was to have Doctor Watson brought to his apartment. He had originally planned to meet the Doctor in a warehouse, playing on Sherlock's view of him as an arch-enemy and dramatising the whole thing to the fullest to get a profile of his younger brother's flatmate; then he remembered something that Priscilla had said several times, 'first impressions count. Always make it a good one.' He had wanted the warehouse because it added to the mystery and would test Doctor Watson's loyalty to Sherlock but realised that he would be playing into Sherlock's game. Mycroft had a minor position in the British Government, why would he need to intimidate the Doctor in a cold, damp warehouse when he can do just the same from the comfort of his armchair? The Doctor would also not be expecting to be taken to an apartment complex in a prime location for the rich to reside, whereas the warehouse would be expected, especially after a game of cat and mouse that Mycroft had just played with him via the cameras; that would ruin some of the effort Mycroft would have put into orchestrating the entire thing.

Mycroft needed to make a statement to Doctor Watson and when in London with a pristine suit and money, why not engage in a power play? Doctor Watson, being ex-army, had experienced life or death already, which meant that he would be anticipating something to happen as depicted in films when one is taken to a warehouse during the night with a mysterious person speaking to you on phones and cameras. No, Mycroft wanted Doctor Watson disarmed. So, the invite had been extended for Watson to visit him at his home.

When Mycroft noted the time, he left the room he was in to stand opposite it, next to the doors to the living area and in direct view of Doctor Watson when he would walk through the front door. Within moments, Mycroft saw the handle turn down as someone applied enough pressure to unlatched the door so they could open it. Watson hesitated to enter the apartment when he saw Mycroft standing at the end of the hall waiting for him. "Do come in, Doctor Watson." Mycroft called. Anthea remained out in the hall and closed the door behind the Doctor so he had no chance of running. Watching Watson hesitate, Mycroft headed back to the room he had just left and waited.

Slowly, Doctor Watson followed after him. Cautious that there might be someone to ambush him. There were no personal decorations he could see lining the walls as he limped further into the apartment and did not feel that he would be welcome to nosy around the other rooms he could see closed doors leading to, so he was unsure as to what the purpose of him being here. With his guard up, Doctor Watson faced the man who shut the door behind him once they were both in the room. "Have a seat, John. Your leg must be hurting you." Mycroft offered, gesturing to the other armchair as he took a seat in his own again.

"You know, I've got a phone. I mean, very clever and all that, you could just phone me." John said in reply, not accepting the invitation to sit.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one must be discreet." Mycroft explained. "Hence this place. You don't seem afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening." However, Mycroft could see that Watson had expected a place fit for a torture and not someone's well presented apartment and thus Watson was clearly out of his depth and on his guard.

"Ah yes," Mycroft laughed, "the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest way of saying stupidity, don't you think?" John didn't comment so Mycroft continued, "what is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?" At that question, John shifted on his feet which Mycroft noted from where he sat, watching John Watson intently. Although, Mycroft did have to applaud John on his honesty as he truthfully answered that he had only met Sherlock the day before. "And since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" Mycroft commented snidely.

John scowled at Mycroft for the insinuation that he was gay, his sexuality a sore point in his life because he never seemed to be able to have a steady relationship with a woman and now this guy in front of him was the second person today that mentioned that he and Sherlock were in a relationship with one another and it was starting to piss him off. But he didn't correct the comment nor did he react physically. "Who are you?" He demanded to know instead.

"An interested party." Mycroft brushed off John's question quickly.

"Interested in Sherlock. Why? I'm guessing you not friends."

"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has?" Mycroft rhetorically asked, both knowing that Sherlock had few friends, none that he would actually call friends, and even more acquaintances that he never kept up with. "I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?" John asked quickly.

"An enemy." Was the short reply.

"An enemy?"

"In his mind, certainly." Mycroft looked away from John in thought as he continued, "if you were to ask him, he would probably describe me as his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well, thank God, you're above all that." John quipped. The chime of John's phone startled him and Mycroft watched as he reached into his coat pocket to read the text message.

Mycroft sighed, "I hope I am not distracting you?" John shook his head at the text and at Mycroft's sarcastic question before sliding his phone back where he retrieved it from. "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong," John began to say, "but I don't think that's any of your business."

"It could be."

John was quick to deny that proposition. "It really couldn't."

Mycroft reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve the pocket diary he kept there, "if you are planning to move into," he glanced down at the pages before finding the information he needed, "221B Baker Street," quickly he closed the book and returned it to the pocket it came from, as John had done just a moment ago with his phone, "I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?"

"Information." Mycroft advised the man, "nothing indiscreet. Nothing you would feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

John was not impressed by Mycroft's reasoning, because sarcastically he said, "that's nice of you."

"But I would prefer, for various reasons, that my concern go unmentioned." Mycroft said, ignoring John's comment. "We have, what you may call, a difficult relationship."

Once more, John's mobile chimed with the same tone that it had a few minutes ago. Mycroft rolled his eyes at how John took the time to read the message, again, as he had earlier. John's resolve was set with a resounding, "no."

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Not interested." John abruptly said. He was aware that he had known Sherlock 24 hours but that didn't stop him from wanting to not put his new flatmate in danger from the man in front of him who was willing to pay for John to spy on Sherlock.

Mycroft chuckled at this, John's loyalty established so quickly already. His psychiatrist had some use. "You're very loyal, very quickly." Mycroft mentioned out loud; to which John venomously denied. Once more, Mycroft pulled the book from his pocket, "trust issues, it says here."

John quickly realised the importance of that little book, as he now questioned just how much information on him that book had written down. "What's that?"

Mycroft ignored this comment, and continued as if uninterrupted. "Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people? You don't seem to be the kind to make friends easily."

Looking up from his book, Mycroft noted how defensive John had gotten when he had started to evaluate him. "Are we done?" John snapped in question.

Not at all intimidated by John's attitude, Mycroft put his book back into his jacket pocket and stood up, "you tell me." John's answer was to turn around and open the door. "I imagine that people have already told you to stay away from him." Mycroft continued as John headed for the front door, "I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." Was the blunt statement that had John stopping in his stride.

"My what?" Angry at himself for not leaving, and angry at himself for being so god-damn curious of what that statement meant, John turned back around.

"Show me." To spite the man, John just held up his left hand, doing as he asked but holding his hand close to his person and not out towards the man. What he wasn't expecting was for said man to walk closer, confused, John stepped back in self preservation. With a lot of reluctance, John let his hand be studied. "Remarkable." Was the one word remark, further infuriating John that he was being made a spectacle of. Even if no one was around to watch.

"What is?" John demanded to know. He needed to know why he had just done that. Stayed when the man asked to see his hand instead of leaving.

Evaluating the frustration John was feeling, Mycroft backed away from him as he further taunted, "most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?" Mycroft didn't wait for an answer as he continued, "you have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder." Mycroft explained as John nodded, unable to deny that, especially if he was right in assuming that Mycroft had that written down in his stupid, little book. "She thinks you're haunted by the memories of your service."

"Who the hell are you?" John snapped. He couldn't take it any more. This man, this absolute stranger just took him from the streets, brought him to some apartment building he's never seen in his life and is now sprouting information only his therapist should know. "How do you know that?" He needed to know because his sessions with his therapist were confidential and for this man to know all of that? He shuddered to think what that might mean.

"Fire her." Was all the answer John received. "She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson, you miss it." John grit his teeth when he realised that the man was completely right. When John read the third text message that his phone received, he left. Unnerved by the experience he just had. A small voice in the back of his head wanted him to have had a creepy, old warehouse experience over this. This made it personal. Intimate. Too many details had been uncovered here that John had not wanted to face but had to because of some man that made him question every insecurity he had of being back in civilian life after thriving in the uniform.

John pulled open the front door, trying not to show how unsteady he was as the man kept staring after him as he walked away. He even forgot that Anthea was his escort because he jumped when she called to him from where she stood by the doors of the lift. "I'm to take you home." Anthea said to him as he got closer. "Address?"

John looked at his left hand briefly, already knowing that his mind had decided. "221B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first."

Once John had told Anthea where he wanted to be taken, she texted her boss. He received the message but didn't reply as he turned the lock on front door. He went back to cinema room, made sure everything was turned off before closing the door and walking back into the living room where Priscilla had now rolled over so she was curled facing the back of the sofa. More of the blanket on the floor than on her body. Still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the confrontation which had taken place just a few feet away.

With a small smile on his face, Mycroft walked over to her and sat on the adjoining section of sofa since the unit was a corner sofa. Priscilla had fallen asleep on the smaller half of the sofa with her head positioned inwards to the corner, which was where Mycroft sat. Her hair was loose and Mycroft ran his hand through it, noticing that slight curls appeared in it, the result of being laid on the strands. It was in quiet times like this, when he was in her company that he was reminded as to why he asked her on that first date, and then why he asked her for her hand in marriage.

He had first met Priscilla Baxter when he was 6 years old. Both their parents had taken them to a mutual friend's birthday party. One of Priscilla's older brothers were in attendance and so were her two younger brothers. The three Baxter boys were being nuisances at one point in the party and Priscilla had wandered off in search of a more quieter area when her parents were distracted with their sons. The quiet area she had found was towards the back of the hall the party was being held in and she had found him there. They acquainted themselves with each other and discovered that they lived rather close by to each other when several chance encounters with each other over the following weeks.

At the age of 3, Priscilla was outnumbered by 2 older brothers, her days were already chaotic at home but when her mother had given birth to 2 more sons, she needed a refuge. Mycroft never demanded much, too lazy to make and keep friends. She had asked Mycroft once, if she could spend time with him because he offered peace that she found rarely anywhere else. Mycroft was unable to deny her simple request, and was unable to find fault with her when she simply sat with him, never spoke unless spoken to and never demanded to be entertained. She just enjoyed the company of someone who wasn't constantly moving about.

When Sherlock was able to walk and talk for the first time, Mrs Holmes often requested Priscilla as a babysitter to sit with Mycroft because her oldest son loved to complain when he had to exert too much energy. Because of this, Sherlock had developed an attachment to her because she was a constant feature in his life. Much like she was to Mycroft. She was a daughter to Mr and Mrs Holmes far before she ever took their name.

It was a suggestion by Priscilla's oldest brother that Mycroft take her out to dinner for her birthday one year. It was during that dinner that they had gotten onto the topic of relationships, their parents relationships, the failed attempts by her older brothers and then onto the people around them. Mycroft evaluated several of the couples around them in the restaurant and when he had looked back to Priscilla, she was just looking at him. A slight tilt to her head. " _Do you know what comparisons have been made between what you have just said to me about these people and us in this moment?"_ Of course, at the time, Mycroft had made an educated guess because he had just been evaluating couples but had allowed her to explain anyway.

" _First impressions are incredibly important. Several of these couples, you have just told me, have known each other for just a brief moment before they entered this restaurant and you can already tell that they will leave here and never see each other again. We have known each other for years now, Mycroft, and even with you having no desire to develop relationships, you make the effort with me. Why? Probably because I am not an inconvenience. I let you do your thing because you let me do mine. It's a mutual partnership we have formed because of that first encounter we had. That first impression we made of each other because we both wanted a moment of peace and quiet."_

Even then it took a few more years before he was able to identify her as his girlfriend, never mind the fact that their families had been calling them an old married couple for a while as it was. She is the affectionate one in the relationship but because she had spent years with him, and knew him well just because she had spent that much time to get to know him, she was never upset with him for being emotionally disengaged.

He adapted to the relationship in other ways, he took her out on a regular basis at a nice restaurant, a different place each time. When she is taken ill, he would spend more time at home watching over her. He is always in the car with her when she has to go places, he is always present when she is taken to work and when she finishes, ready to return home. Sometimes, when court cases are difficult for her, she tended to work hard throughout the day to ensure she has everything perfect for the case and when she comes home, she heads straight to bed. Sometimes she falls asleep as soon as she gets comfortable, other times she just sits at her dressing table, thinking.

In times like that when she wants everything to be perfect and she overworks herself, Mycroft always makes sure he is present physically for her. His presence, she had explained to him once, when he had asked, he provides a stability for her because he is in control of his thoughts. Of his actions. She has to be mindful of her words and how she acts every time she goes to work because as a lawyer, she has a reputation to uphold and sometimes, there is a case that exhausts her to the point that an anxiety develops. Questions as to whether she's done a good enough job, or the thought she she's missed something and that the court decision would have been swayed differently if she had mentioned that piece of information.

Mycroft returned to conscious thought when he felt Priscilla's hand brush his where it had continued to stroke her hair. "Hi." Her voice croaked.

"Hi. Shall we get you a glass of water and to bed?" Mycroft suggested gently. He might not have said 'I love you' much to her over the years but his actions had spoken much more to her than his words ever could.

Too tired to really care, Priscilla stood on unsteady legs and headed down the hall to their bedroom where she crawled under the covers and situated herself comfortably. Mycroft had followed her, with a glass of water, which he placed onto the table at the bedside where he heard a muffled 'thank you' from under the covers. He carefully lifted the covers off her head and laid the cover over her properly. He was about to walk away and head on out but was stopped as he felt one of her hands clasp his wrist. She tugged a couple of times to get him to come closer and managed to get him to bend down to her so she could reach up enough to give him a kiss to his cheek and say 'goodnight' before he left. He returned the favour to her before he did leave.

As he descended in the lift, he received notification from his assistant, Anthea, that she was with the car outside and that the driver was ready to take him to his brother.

Even in the night, where people were more concerned with sleeping in their beds for the night than out on the town on foot with friends, the traffic is as bad as it is during the day. Save for rush hour.

Not too long later, Mycroft's driver rolled the car to a stop near the police vehicles with their blue lights flashing. He got out and waited by the car, watching everybody move about the crime scene, knowing that Sherlock was going to be heading this way.

"Sherlock." Mycroft heard John Watson say. "That's him, that's the man I was talking to you about." Sherlock made a comment to John but Mycroft couldn't clearly hear it.

"So," Mycroft began once both gentleman had gotten close enough, "another case cracked. How very public-spirited. Though that's not really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked his older brother, not at all delighted with his appearance.

"As ever, I am concerned about you."

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern." Was the dry response from Sherlock.

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?" Mycroft asked.

"Oddly enough," Sherlock intoned, "no."

"We have more in common than you like to believe." Mycroft mentioned, trying a different approach with his brother this time. "This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you always know how it upset Mummy."

"I upset her?" Sherlock rhetorically asked Mycroft. "Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft." The snarl was clear for all to hear in his voice.

John, entirely lost to the conversation now, was reeling from that revelation, "wait. Mummy? Who's mummy?"

"Mother." Sherlock politely clarified. "Our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft." Goading his brother, Sherlock turned to him, "putting on weight again?"

"Losing it, in fact." Mycroft smiled, proud of himself for willing himself to do so and succeeding.

Poor John, "he's your brother?"

Sherlock, at this moment in time, was at wits end with Mycroft's presence. "Of course he's my brother."

"He's not-?" John trailed off. In the face of two stoic men, John couldn't help but feel slightly inferior to them and certainly did not want to know what happened when he pissed them off by insulting them.

Both Mycroft and Sherlock turned to him in question but Sherlock was the one to ask, "what?"

"I don't know," John shrugged helplessly, concerned that he might have offended the man he was now introduced to as Sherlock's brother, "criminal mastermind?"

"Close enough." Sherlock droned. Clearly not offended in the least for his brother's honour or pride.

"For goodness' sake." Mycroft politely cursed. Annoyed that Sherlock refused to show the appropriate respect for the job he held for Queen and Country. "I occupy a minor position in the British government." Mycroft clarified for John's sake.

"He _is_ the British government," Sherlock had to add, "when he's not too busy being the British secret service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does to the traffic."

Before John followed after Sherlock, he just had to ask Mycroft, "so, when you say you are concerned about him? You generally _are_ concerned about him?"

"Yes, of course." Mycroft held no shame in admitting that. "His sister cares too but it seems he appreciates her efforts more than mine and I'm the one related by blood. Goodnight, John." Mycroft nodded a final time to John before getting back into the car.

John followed after Sherlock when he realised that the conversation was over and that the lady from earlier really did not care at all for him. "So dim sum." John said when he was close enough to Sherlock.

"I can always predict the fortune cookies." Sherlock smugly informed his companion. A grin set on his lips.

"No you can't."

"Almost can. You did get shot though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound." Sherlock clarified further.

"Oh, right. Yeah, shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so."

"No you didn't. You have a sister?" John asked, if Sherlock could change the topic of conversation quickly, why couldn't he?

Sherlock stopped walking at John's question. "What?"

"Mycroft, he said that you appreciate your sister's care more than his own and he's your blood sibling? Or something." John clarified. He watched as Sherlock turned back to face the black car of his brother's, which was still sat where it had parked.

Sherlock turned back to John before he continued walking, "I am surprised he mentioned her. He hardly ever talks about her to others, finds it disrespectful to discuss her when she's not present."

John looked at Sherlock as he began to explain but John still didn't understand, "who is she?"

"Priscilla Holmes. She's my sister-in-law. Mycroft's wife."

"What?"

~ End of Chapter ~

 _Goodness gracious. This chapter took me six hours to write, well nearly six and a half, but that's a technicality. I had to come back to it the following day to proof-read it because I was so tired after I had written it out – there were quite a few things that needed to be corrected because of my sleep deprived mind._

 _I'm not overly sure how I feel about this chapter overall but I deemed it okay to post, at least. I am the author, you are the reader, you don't know of all the sentences I've back-pedalled on because they weren't quite right. You won't ever see the changes I've made as I wrote this chapter. You see the final product, you have an unbiased view. Sometimes, that's all it takes. A fresh view of something to find the final product you've been searching for._

 _I am aware that some of you are going to dislike this chapter immensely and I apologise for that, that I have ruined your expectations of this story. However, I am still going to post chapters to this story because no matter how bad a story is, it can't be left unfinished. Too many times have I found a story that hasn't been completed for quite some time and I refuse to let one of my stories go to the way side just because it got some bad press._

 _The only way one can improve, is if they take the criticism they have received and adapt to it. One does not have to completely change, but no change what so ever means no progress._

 _I hope to see you on the next page, but if I don't, I hope to see you again some other time._

 _Happy reading,_

 _Goofball._


	4. An Explosion of Irritation and Love

**An Explosion of Irritation and Love**

"Sherlock!"

"Yes?"

"The hell are you doing with my stuff?"

"Er, yes," Sherlock hesitated in replying, knowing that if he explained what he was doing, he would be murdered for it and, if he didn't, he would be murdered for avoiding answering. "About that – I needed to borrow them."

He could see his sister-in-law stood in the kitchen from where he sat opposite Mycroft and he saw her place her hands on her hips and scowl at him.

"It's not often I get emotional, Sherlock." Priscilla calmly stated as she walked out of the kitchen, scowling at him all the way. "But I am not best pleased with you at the moment. You stole my favourite set of wine glasses. I don't know whether to cry over them or kill you for it."

Sherlock, to his credit, shrunk down into his chair. Refusing to make eye contact with Priscilla and plucked away at the strings of the violin as a distraction. Mycroft shook his head at his brother, not having to ask which wine glasses Sherlock had swiped, the set his mother had bought were the only wine glasses in the apartment. Mama Holmes had bought them as soon as she saw them as a wedding present to her eldest son and his new bride, she had written Papa Holmes' on the gift tag with hers but as usual, he didn't have a clue what the gift was.

She walked over to the window to try and release some of the frustration bubbling away at her and focused her attention on the police officers mulling around outside. Debris was still covering most of the surrounding area, would take a few hours at least to clean up. A hole had been blown in the wall of the apartment building across the road; firemen tending to the building to secure it. Curious on lookers being thwarted by police officers to get a closer look at the scene.

"Sherlock!" Someone from downstairs called before hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Sherlock!"

"John." Sherlock greeted simply as the footsteps stopped inside the apartment. John surveyed the room and noted that Mycroft and a woman were in the flat with Sherlock. Both men were sat opposite one another in the armchairs whilst the woman had her back to them at the window. "Oh, John! You've met Mycroft already." Sherlock said in way of introduction, Mycroft raising a hand lightly in greeting. "But you've yet to meet Priscilla, his wife."

The woman turned away from the window at the sound of her name, a pleasant smile on her face. "John Watson, yes? Sherlock's flatmate?" Was her question as she turned fully to face the third man in the room. The answer was obvious considering how quickly one can list the number of people Sherlock keeps regular contact with on one hand but Priscilla was one to never not be polite. "Priscilla Holmes, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." Sherlock watched as she walked closer to John, appearing from behind his chair, to shake John's hand.

"Yes, you too." John replied, too overwhelmed with everything to be articulate, but he shook himself of his stupor for the moment to return the hand shake. "Sorry, I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?"

"Me? What?" Sherlock mumbled, "oh, yes, gas leak, apparently." He clarified. "I can't." He addressed Mycroft. Still plucking away at the violin strings. "Stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time."

"Never mind your usual trivia." Mycroft drawled in response, "this is of national importance."

"How's the diet?" Sherlock randomly asked, trying to rile his brother.

"Sherlock." He looked up at Priscilla as she stood behind Mycroft's chair. "Behave."

"Perhaps you can get through to him, John." Mycroft answered, shifting his head to the side to look at John directly. He felt Priscilla pluck at his hair as he shifted but paid it no mind. She probably found and piece of fluff in his hair and removed it for him.

John though, was awfully distracted, evident by his simple, "what?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

"That's putting it lightly." Priscilla mumbled, still upset by Sherlock's abuse of her possessions.

"If you're so bothered, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock demanded to know. He would not bend to his brother's will just because the lazy sod wouldn't do his own work if it meant making unnecessary movement. Nor is he happy to be on the receiving end to his sister-in-law's ire, though he knew it was entirely his own fault and that he would be facing the consequences for a while yet.

"No, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time." Mycroft rebutted. "Not with the Korean elections so, well. You don't need to know about that, do you? Besides," he continued to explain, "a case like this, it requires," he cringed on the next word, "legwork."

"How was the lilo, John?" Sherlock deviated. Refusing to acknowledge his brother any longer. A sliver of hope eating at him that he got Mycroft to leave, Priscilla would too, giving him another day to live.

"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." Mycroft corrected quickly. Now becoming annoyed at his younger brother's childish behaviour.

"Oh, yes, of course." Sherlock said after some consideration, observing John consciously which lead to the confirmation of Mycroft's assessment.

"Be nice, gents." Priscilla demanded of the Holmes brothers as she leant forwards on the backrest of the chair. "I am not in the mood to be dealing with your childish squabbles today."

Mycroft turned to John who sat on the sofa on the other side of the room, "Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became pals. What's he like to live with?" Mycroft asked in false politeness. "Hellish, I imagine."

She gently swatted the back of her husband's head in silent affirmation of her previous statement of being nice. He hadn't ignored her, exactly, just _conveniently_ not heard what she had said. He turned his head to scowl at her in disapproval but she simply raised an eyebrow in turn, inviting him to retaliate. "I'm never bored." Was John's simple answer. Him and Sherlock badly hiding their amusement at the couple. As much as Sherlock disliked having to deal with Mycroft in the same room, Priscilla offered entertainment when she was around because she never cared of the reputation either of them had developed doing their work and would constantly berate the pair of them in public when she saw fit to do so.

Mycroft turned back to John before rhetorically asking, "good. That's good isn't it?"

"Keep up the good work on your blog, John and please don't listen to Sherlock when he scoffs at any mention of it." Priscilla commented, her voice carrying in the quiet room. John started at the unexpected conversation directed at him, not used to being addressed kindly or politely in a conversation, unless it was by people not in the same room as Sherlock. "He's just jealous that yours is doing better in popularity than his."

"Oh," John chuckled. The woman hadn't said much during the entire time he had been at 221B, but John knew he was going to like her if he spent more time around her. He could see that she had experience dealing with the egos of the Holmes boys and he faintly noticed that she looked and acted like a mother disciplining her children when they misbehaved. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

"Andrew West," Mycroft interrupted, "Westie to his friends. Civil servant. Found dead on the tracks of Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in." Idle conversation never his cup of tea.

"Which was one comment too many at breakfast this morning. The mental image doesn't bare thinking about." Priscilla added. Mycroft had been reading the newspaper and had found the article and read out loud a paragraph or two where the details were a bit more gruesome than necessary.

John tilted his head, "jumped in front a train?"

"Seems the logical assumption." Mycroft agreed.

"But?" John asked for clarification. "You wouldn't be here if it were just an accident."

"Very good, John! I can see why Sherlock keeps asking you to accompany him on cases." Priscilla praised. A faint dusting of colour coated John's cheeks, definitely not used to being outright complimented. Sherlock just insulted him for even thinking of trying to help.

"The MOD is working on a new missile defense system. The Bruce-Partington program it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick." Mycroft continued.

Sherlock and John chuckled at that. "That wasn't very clever." John stated.

"It's not the only copy. But it is _secret_ and it is _missing_."

"Top secret?"

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick," Mycroft clarified, "we can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands."

"As Mr West's lawyer, I am aware of a few people who are definitely described as the _wrong hands,_ but without the evidence, I can't make the court case and seeing how my husband prefers to _wheedle_ himself out of any kind of extensive labour, he is failing to ask Sherlock nicely to do the _legwork_ for him." She mentioned, a dark look cast at Sherlock, "though after what I've just discovered, I am very hard pressed not to throttle you, you know."

John looked at Priscilla, noting that she had stood up with her hands on her hips glowering at his flatmate, "what has he done now?" He asked out of pure curiosity.

"He has committed a crime I could have him put in jail for but unfortunately that would be too easy, wouldn't it, Sherlock?"

"Would it help if I said sorry?" Sherlock questioned pathetically. John was surprised to see that Sherlock had actually shrunk further into himself under Priscilla's scowl with an actual apology.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft called his brother's attention. "You do realise who those glasses were from and who they were for, yes?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I needed a specific type of glass and knew that in your apartment was a glass I could use, neither of you were answering your phones so I went ahead and took the box." Sherlock took a moment to consider that statement whilst deducing his brother and sister-in-law closely. "I don't understand why you're making such a fuss over them, Priscilla. You weren't using them." Several expletives flew from Priscilla's mouth as she stormed from the flat. Sherlock's name being cursed at the same time. No question that she was upset. Honestly, Sherlock was surprised that she had actually walked out instead of forcing him to clean them to pristine condition and marching him to her apartment to return them.

"The wine glasses in the kitchen?" John asked. He had entered the kitchen yesterday morning to find Sherlock fiddling with some very nice wine glasses, he didn't get any type of response from Sherlock so he didn't know where the glasses had been hidden or where they had come from. He had assumed Sherlock had nicked them from Mrs Hudson.

"She's going to be upset with you for quite awhile, Sherlock." Mycroft said. He shook his head knowing that his wife would calm down whilst she was outside waiting for him to follow so they could continue their day. "That box of expensive crystal wine glasses was a wedding gift from our parents. Priscilla was so enamoured with them that she refused to have them stained from use so had them protected and safely stored away until, of course, you decided to help yourself." They were from Mama Holmes, of course with Papa Holmes' name on the gift tag but him not actually having any knowledge of them.

"Oh, Sherlock." John called, clearly in disbelief that he had done that to begin with. He should really be use to Sherlock taking things belonging to other people by now. He could relate as his own mother had done the same thing with a set of brightly decorated china plates, she had stood them on display and he nor his sister were allowed to ever touch them when they were growing up.

"You've got to find those plans, Sherlock." Mycroft requested, once he realised that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything. "Don't make me ask Priscilla to return. You know how she gets when she's angry at you. Think it over." He walked over to John to shake his hand, "farewell, John. I apologise that my wife rushed off. If she had stayed longer she would have skinned Sherlock alive." Was all he managed to say before Sherlock began running the bow over the strings of his violin to force him to leave.

~ **An Explosion of Irritation and Love** ~

"Why does your brother seem to think I'll help him with anything? Especially when he's not apologised appropriately."

"Because you always help him when he asks. You do it with your brothers." Mycroft replied to his wife. The pair of them sat in a beautifully decorated restaurant for dinner, the meal finished as Priscilla answered a call from Sherlock, the younger Holmes asking her to locate some documents and send them to him.

Priscilla shook her head in exasperation. "You've not had a reply back from John yet? About West?" She asked to change the topic of conversation, not wanting to ruin a nice afternoon with too much negativity.

"No. Though I'm not surprised, since Sherlock is keeping him occupied with other things." Priscilla nodded at that but couldn't stop her eyebrow raising as she looked at Mycroft, hesitating to ask a question, not entirely sure whether he would appreciate the concern. Although, Mycroft understood that she cared and was the only one he allowed to ask after his health without a sarcastic or rude reply."Ask me your question, wife."

She chuckled at her husband and his deduction of her before sobering, "how's your tooth, love?" He'd had a dentist appointment earlier in the day and his tooth had been irritating him since but he refused all methods of pain relief he'd been offered. His grimace was the only answer she needed and smiled at him in sympathy, though quietly laughing at him because it's his own fault for not accepting pain relief.

Their waiter took their dessert requests and left quickly. "I'll be leaving for work earlier than usual tomorrow morning." Priscilla mentioned, on the off-chance that Mycroft didn't already know. "Around half past six I believe." She took a drink of her water as she watched her husband reach into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and remove his diary, not once removing his bright blue eyes from her face. Priscilla watched as his long fingers found the page in the book he wanted and opened the diary so he could read what he had written there.

"I understand that you were going to leave at seven? What has changed?" Mycroft asked as he looked to his wife. She was leaning back in her chair with her right hand resting in her lap and her left hand resting on the table near her glass of water, her thumb lazily rubbing over the two gold rings on her finger. A habit she had developed over the years from working in an office and irritating her colleagues by fidgeting one too many times.

Priscilla shrugged. "Roadworks are set up on the route I need to take to get to the courthouse on time. Do you need a pen, love?" Priscilla asked as she began to reach down to her handbag resting at her feet.

Even though Mycroft has information written in that book, he was always correct and never had a need to make any changes. Nor had he need to ever add anything into it. As a way to spend quality time with his wife and as a way of telling her about his day, he would ask her nicely to write in the book for him as he dictated to her. He would always wait for her to settle onto the sofa in her pyjamas and find something on the television to watch or have on as background noise, this was because when Priscilla changed out of her work clothes into her pyjamas, she was officially no longer going to do any paperwork or anything office related.

She made a habit on her days off, if she had no plans to leave the apartment, to stay in her pyjamas all day. When Priscilla left the apartment, she made the effort to look decent, trying to match the pristine suit her husband always wears but when no one but him was going to be looking at her, she refused to do anything special with her clothing or how she looked. Mycroft found her attractive no matter what she wore and found himself wearing civvies with his wife because he found comfort in not having to adhere to a high standard he set for himself when appearing in public as the high standing figure he is in the British Government.

He relished in her presence because she never judged him for what he did and he felt refreshed on the days he spent at home with Priscilla when she wasn't needed at work and he didn't need to attend anything. They would wake up around the same time but Priscilla would tempt him to stay in bed while she made breakfast, never the same thing repeated in the same week, and they would have breakfast in bed with one another before even thinking of doing something. He loved it.

"Thank you, Priscilla." Mycroft said after his wife had handed him the pen she had found in her handbag. It wasn't anything fancy, just a random pen that could be found celotaped to a puzzle book bought from a shop. He amended the time and returned the pen back to her and the book back to his pocket. As Priscilla put the pen back, their waiter returned with their desserts and an offer to refill their glasses.

~ End of Chapter ~

 _So, this chapter is a filler. How dull. I do apologise. I'm not making this story into a very promising one, am I?_

 _I must press on though! No matter how bad a project is, always finish it once you've started it. Then you can completely forget about how horrible it was – if you feel that way about it._

 _These past few weeks have also been a little difficult for me personally. I had actually lost the will to do anything creative for about three consecutive days last week because I was that far down in the dumps. I've only just relit the creative fire._

 _I have been made redundant and am having to dedicate quite a lot of my time to finding work and it's taking its toll on me because I've applied to so many jobs and out of those I have only been asked to attend two interviews and they've all ended the same way –_ you are not what we are currently looking for.

 _Onwards, and hopefully, upwards._

 _Goofball._


	5. A Scandal in Belgravia: Crown Jewels

**A Scandal In Belgravia: Crown Jewels**

Buckingham Palace. John could not believe it. He was standing in Buckingham Palace. First the mess with Sherlock, bloody idiot not even aware that he had left Baker Street, let alone gone to Dublin, and having to take his laptop to a crime scene because Sherlock couldn't be bothered to leave the flat and definitely not to get started on what the hell he had been doing in the flat during John's absence, if that sheet was anything to go by.

Then the helicopter. A helicopter! Someone sent John a helicopter in place of a taxi and delivered him to what was essentially the back garden of Buckingham Palace. Once up in the air, John pinched himself. Hard.

All too quickly, John was startled from his musings when his guide stopped in the doorway to a grand room and gestured for John too take a seat on the equally-as-grand sofa, where Sherlock was already sitting, still wrapped in his home-made toga. Both men ignored the pile of clothes and pair of polished shoes neatly sitting on the round coffee table in front of them.

Nothing was said between them. Sherlock not interested and John too interested in looking around the room in wonder. One must never miss an opportunity to look around Buckingham Palace whilst they're there; at least John certainly wasn't.

"Are you wearing any pants?" John asked Sherlock once he had sat down next to the detective. John didn't really want to know the answer but curiosity killed the cat and John was running low on lives. Here Sherlock sat, in one of the nicest and fanciest rooms John has ever had the pleasure of being in, in a white sheet. It didn't have to be a bespoke suit or anything freshly laundered but definitely more than a bed sheet, what if Her Majesty walked past the room? Unlikely, but what if? Oh, it made John sick to even entertain the thought. Especially when Sherlock denied that he was wearing civvies underneath. John was going to drop that subject before it even started. "I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray." John joked as a way to move the conversation onwards.

Eventually, the absurdity of the situation got to John, he needed to know what was happening because this is Buckingham Palace and not just anyone is allowed to be inside. "What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?"

"I don't know." John assumed Sherlock actually did know but the explanation Sherlock would have to give would be too long winded and a waste of his time, hence the simple denial.

"Here to see the Queen?"

"Oh, apparently, yes." Perfectly timed, Queen Mycroft walked into the room and Sherlock and John could not laugh any harder.

"Just once," Mycroft drawled, unimpressed with the giggling. "Could you two act like grown-ups?" His question was answered with more laughter from the flatmates and there was nothing he was able to do to stop it.

John smirked, unable to not tempt the older Holmes with dry humour. "We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope." Sherlock laughed once more before facing his brother with a scathing look that John noticed was matched on Mycroft's.

"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft." Sherlock dryly stated, just looking at his brother caused annoyance to rear its head within Sherlock and he was trying very hard to sit and wait to meet his client out of pure curiosity instead of standing up and leaving out of boredom.

"What? The backfiring car and the hiker?" A female voice asked, John was certain it was Priscilla but couldn't be certain until she walked into the room from the same direction Mycroft had. "I thought you said he had already solved it, Mycroft?" John was used to seeing the Holmes brothers in their suits, he was just getting used to Sherlock wrapped in the sheet – in Buckingham Palace, no less – but this was the first time he had seen the woman in a suit. The times he had seen her before, she was wearing trainers, jeans and a coat or a some other combination of casual clothing. As she walked in the room, John could admit, as a hot-blooded man, that Mycroft had himself a beautiful wife, but also as a self-respecting gentleman, he did not ogle. Priscilla Holmes walked into the room with a smile as she looked at the occupants in turn, the heels of her polished black shoes not making any noise as they pressed into carpet. A floral patterned blouse tucked into a knee length skirt with a necklace hanging from her neck, visible to all as it sat on her chest. John was used to seeing Mycroft's wife with her hair tied back in an array of styles, never had he seen it kept loose as it was now. John flushed when Priscilla met his gaze before she moved over to Mycroft, the doctor embarrassed and ashamed that he had been even remotely attracted to another man's woman.

Sherlock had caught John out of the corner of his eye but faintly smiled at the doctor's honour when he turned away. He turned back to his sister-in-law as she stood next to her husband, her arm hooked on his gently. Sherlock watched as her eyes, framed by glasses, took in his state of dress before raising an eyebrow at him, "do I even want to know?"

Mycroft, instead of answering, curled his hand around hers on his arm, "I glanced at the police record," Mycroft began as way of explanation to his wife, referring back to her original question when she entered the room, before turning his attention to his younger brother, resting his other hand in his trouser pockets, "a bit obvious isn't it? Surely?"

"Not in the slightest." Priscilla drawled with a chuckle.

"Transparent." Was the dead reply Sherlock gave, startling John that he had to do all that work for Sherlock to have already solved it. John would have appreciated Sherlock actually telling him that he'd sorted it all out instead of just letting him run about on a goose chase.

"Time to move on, then." Mycroft announced as he released himself from his wife's hold and picked the pile of clothes and shoes up off of the table and held them out to his brother, who looked at them as if they were coated in maggots, rot and the nastiest looking grime anyone could imagine. "We are in Buckingham Palace, at the very heart of the British Nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!" Mycroft demanded when he realised that Sherlock was refusing them.

"What for?" Sherlock rebutted, much like a young child would when asked to do their chores.

"Behave. The pair of you." Priscilla joked before turning to Sherlock, asking nicely, "would you please cover up a bit more? You are indecent and I don't want you to accidentally show me the Crown Jewels. That's not a collection I want to see."

Sherlock stood up, a show of intimidation towards Mycroft but accepting what Priscilla asked, a decent proposal. However, it doesn't have to be an immediate change, he could prolong his brother's suffering a little more. "Who is my client?"

"Illustrious, in the extreme." Another, smartly dressed man called, as he entered the room also. "Mycroft!" He greeted with a friendly smile and a firm handshake.

"Harry." Mycroft greeted, returning the handshake.

"And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous."

"May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?"

"A full-time occupation, I imagine. Lovely to see you again, Mrs Holmes. A Pleasure as always." Priscilla politely returned his smile, hooking her arm through Mycroft's once more as she leant against him, "and this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?" Harry asked as he moved onto to making the introductions with the others in the room, beginning with the good Doctor.

"Hello, yes." John greeted briskly, politely offering a very brief handshake towards the stranger. Overwhelmed and ridiculously uncomfortable.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

Priscilla smiled, "As am I." Sherlock scoffed.

"Thank you." John faintly smiled towards Priscilla; ignoring Sherlock. "Sorry, your employer?" John questioned the strange man.

Although, Harry never gave anything away. "Particularly enjoyed the one with the aluminium crutch."

"Thank you." John turned to Sherlock to smugly smile at him. Their earlier conversations about his blog coming to mind.

Harry walked over to Sherlock, "Mr Holmes the younger," he began, "you look taller in your photographs." John caught Priscilla rolling her eyes at the blatant insult at Sherlock. John realised then that no matter how mad or upset Priscilla was with Sherlock, she wasn't one to hold a grudge. Unlike some of his ex-girlfriends.

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." Sherlock commented, not rising to the bait Harry threw him. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning."

Sherlock brushed past John and Mycroft as he moved to leave the room but didn't get very far as Mycroft lifted his foot and stepped onto the sheet trailing on the floor behind Sherlock, applying some of his weight, almost showing the whole room Sherlock's nakedness if not for his quick reaction and catching the sheet before too much was shown. "This is of national importance, grow up!" Mycroft snarled.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock growled in reply.

"BOYS!" Priscilla snapped. The gentlemen all jumped in fright from her shout but only two were feeling her wrath. She had turned her back on Sherlock to avoid seeing anything inappropriate of her brother-in-law. A hot blush coated her cheeks, rushing down her neck from the embarrassment her husband and his brother were causing in front of polite company, unable to comprehend that this was actually happening. Her husband had unashamedly tried to pants his little brother, in front of esteemed company, John and herself. Embarrassment wasn't the only emotion showing on her face. In a quiet voice, her own snarl in place, she harshly commanded the Holmes boys to do as she says. "Remove your foot, Mycroft, from Sherlock's sheet and move away from him. Sherlock, please cover yourself and make sure you are presentable before returning to your seat. You both will behave from now or so help me, I will give you both a time out and make it as humiliating for you as I possibly can!" Her voice had grown slightly louder towards the end of her commands, she had literally, not two minutes ago asked Sherlock to get changed, and he was going to do so but her husband, her middle-aged husband, had nearly de-robed his brother, in his wife's presence, without an ounce of remorse.

She refused to turn around and face the situation, "would you mind, John, passing Sherlock the clothes there, please?" John nodded and quickly gathered up the pile and handed them to Sherlock as quickly as he could. John was impressed, never had he seen Sherlock listen to someone ordering him around. He needed to know her secret so he could do it when Sherlock is being an arse back at Baker Street. "Now, seeing as the adults have returned to the room. Your client, Sherlock, has requested anonymity due to the status they hold within the location you are currently standing. If necessary, make a deduction, but keep it to yourself otherwise you will be at risk of imprisonment for breach of security. Am I understood?"

Sherlock nodded, his back also turned. "Didn't quite catch what you said, Sherlock." She mentioned. He vocally gave his affirmation before striding from the room and the situation.

Priscilla turned around to face Mycroft once she was certain Sherlock had walked away. "I asked Sherlock to go change, which he was going to do mind you, but you had to throw a tantrum and nearly exposed him to me, to us all." She took her glasses off her face in a huff, "do you not realise how disgusting that would have been?" She didn't let Mycroft get a word in, "no, you don't realise. Wait till I tell your mother."

~ **Crown Jewels ~**

Once Priscilla had defused the situation, apologised greatly to Harry and John, Sherlock returned to the room no sheet in sight and not complaining about the suit.

The detective took the remaining seat, where he had sat upon arrival, next to John, as his brother sat on the opposite sofa with Priscilla in between himself and Harry. He noted, uninterested, the tea set that sat on the coffee table between everyone.

"I'll be mother." Mycroft joked, more so to Priscilla and Harry but Sherlock and John heard him, as he poured his wife a cup of tea from the pot. Harry, John and Sherlock already had a cup of tea for themselves sat before them, Mycroft did not pour himself one so he sat back once he passed the recently filled cup to his wife. Sherlock and Harry not reaching for theirs.

Sherlock commented, "and there is a whole childhood in a nutshell."

"My employer has a problem." Harry began, getting down to the reason they were all gathered.

"A matter has come to light," Mycroft explained on Harry's behalf, "of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, "we have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr Holmes?" Harry rhetorically asked, answering Sherlock's question.

"Not to date anyone with a navy." Sherlock rebutted. John nodded in agreement.

"This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust." Mycroft calmly stated.

John titled his head slightly, not hiding his confusion, "you don't trust your own secret service?"

"Naturally not," Priscilla chimed in, "they spy on people for money and I do believe we have a timetable to keep, Mycroft. We don't want to be keeping Harry too long, don't want to let him fall behind on his duties." Harry nodded his agreement to this.

Mycroft lifted a briefcase onto his lap, opened it and removed a photograph, "what do you know about this woman?" He asked Sherlock as he handed the image over.

"Nothing whatsoever." Sherlock said after scanning the woman's face.

Mycroft scoffed, "then you should be paying more attention."

Priscilla tapped his arm in warning before leaning forwards and handing her phone over to Sherlock for him to browse the information she had loaded for him to read, "she's been the centre of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants, separately." Priscilla listed the information for John's benefit as Sherlock was reading it from her phone.

Sherlock returned the phone to its owner, "you know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"

"Irene Adler." Mycroft stated, "professionally known as _The Woman._ "

"Professionally?" John queried.

"There are many names for what she does," Mycroft answered, "she prefers _dominatrix._ "

"Dominatrix." Sherlock whispered. His mind rolling with scenarios and possibilities about his client and what The Woman is demanding in ransom.

Mycroft, however, either misinterpreted his brother's repetition of the word for confusion of not understanding what it means, or just wanting to tease him, "don't be alarmed," he called, "it is to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me." Sherlock denied, frowning at Mycroft.

"She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding," The older Holmes continued, "for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." He returned to his briefcase and removed several more pieces of paper for Sherlock. "These are all from her website."

After a brief moment for Sherlock to look at the information, he asked, "and I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?"

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes." Harry commented, slightly impressed.

"Hardly a difficult deduction." Sherlock said. "Photographs of whom?"

"Person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked incredulously. What were they supposed to be working with?

Mycroft sighed, "I can tell you that it is a young person. A young female person."

"How many photographs?" Sherlock asked.

It was Priscilla's turn to sigh. "A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes they do."

"And I assume in a number on compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

"John," Sherlock addressed, "you might want to put that cup back on your saucer now."

"Can you help us, Mr Holmes?" Harry asked. Desperate for answers to assure his employer that the situation was being handled.

Though his hopes were horrendously dashed with Sherlock's simple, "How?"

"Will you take the case?" Harry asked once more.

"What case?" Sherlock questioned again. "Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten."

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft clarified for his brother. "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour."

"Oh," Sherlock whispered once the situation became clear to him, "a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock." John called. Trying, in vain, to stop his flatmate for being arrogant and a rude.

Sherlock, however, completely ignored John's warning. "Where is she?"

"In London, currently."

"Text me the details." Sherlock demanded as he grabbed his coat and walked out of the room. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry called after him before he could completely disappear from the room.

"No," Sherlock denied. "I think I'll have the photographs."

Priscilla raised her eyebrow at Sherlock incredulously, "check your ego, Sherlock." John noted that she had meant it in a way that Sherlock should not think so highly of himself considering that she knew more of Irene Adler than Sherlock did. Priscilla was trying to subtly warn him of what was to come should he face Miss Adler.

Harry, on the other hand, did not see it the same way. "One can only hope that you're as good as you seem to think."

Sherlock deduced Harry very quickly, Priscilla rolling her eyes at how obvious Sherlock was being at showcasing his ability to prove the man horrendously wrong. "I'll need some equipment, of course."

"Anything you require, I will have it sent over." Mycroft accepted.

"Can I have a box of matches?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter, either will do." Sherlock asked specifically of Harry.

"I don't smoke." Was the answer he received.

" _Sherlock._ " Priscilla stressed. Warning him from treading where he was on thin ice. She knew that he was baiting Harry to tell him who his latest client is.

Sherlock nodded his head at his sister before looking at Harry, "no, I know _you_ don't, but your _employer_ does."

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes." Harry explained as he reached into his pocket.

"I'm not the Commonwealth."

"And that's as modest as he gets." John said, following after Sherlock. "Pleasure to meet you." He politely said to Harry, seeing as Sherlock wasn't going to.

"Laters!" Sherlock called behind him.

Harry turned to Mycroft, stunned to silence. Mycroft, also, could not find the right words to make up for his brother's lackadaisical attitude. "Well," Priscilla's voice carried in the quiet of the room as she moved to collect the photographs from where Sherlock had just put them on the table, placing them back into the briefcase. "I apologise that that was your first introduction to Sherlock, Harry." Then moving on to tidying the tea tray.

Harry smiled towards Mycroft's wife, appreciating her kindness. "I must be returning to my duties once more, it was a pleasure to see you both again. I hope we will meet again in the future?" He politely asked as he held his hand out to Mycroft to shake before doing the same with Priscilla.

"We shall arrange something, Harry." Mycroft agreed. The couple watched Harry leave before turning around and heading back the way they came, Priscilla walking with her arm looped through her husband's as they walked the corridors of Buckingham Palace towards their destination. "I apologise for my behaviour earlier, my love. I hope you can forgive me." Mycroft softly said to his wife, lifting her right hand to his lips to bestow a kiss to her rings before lowering her hand back to his arm and covering it with his.

Priscilla smiled at the gesture, heart swelling with emotion, "you were already forgiven, Mycroft. But thank you for your apology anyway, I appreciate it. Just _please,"_ she emphasised her request, a shiver racking her spine, "don't _ever_ pants your brother in front of me again."

~ End of Chapter ~

 _Part two to follow!_

 _I want to thank everyone for following, listing this on their favourites and leaving a review. I get so excited when I see a new notification, it's a little embarrassing on my part – haha._

 _I know this isn't the best BBC Sherlock fanfiction floating around but I hope you all get just a little bit excited when I post a new chapter?_

 _At any point, in this story, you find something you are unhappy with or unsure about, please do let me know and we'll discuss it. I hope I'm not leaving too many plot holes and that it is developing well enough?_


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